Chapter 6: Sophomores

Marilyn Grant missed Andy over the next weeks. She didn’t enjoy Hell Week as much as some of the other actives did, but she, they, and even the pledges, got through it.

Then, right after the pledges got their badges, she got a little sister, Beverly. She had been one of the brighter pledges, and she’d done less complaining than most during the pledge period. They sat together during house meals for two days before she introduced Beverly to Natalie and Caitlin. They all knew each other, of course, but now they were a family. As Beverly was taking English 101, Marilyn sketched out what she knew the faculty thought was the central parts of the course before introducing her to the house files.

Then, she dug down to finish her own studying. She finished her paper for Developmental Psychology and typed clean drafts of the others. She dug into the house files for her own courses, finding that knowing the subject matter helped immeasurably in sorting through some quite-different final exams for the same course.

Finals, themselves, were times of strain but far from times of despair. Then came a dead time, waiting for Andy to call. She went Christmas shopping for Pete’s gift. He’d probably appreciate something from the University community. She decided on a U of I warm-up suit. She only realized how much she’d been waiting for Andy’s call when it came.

“Can you go Saturday?” he asked.

“Sure. Noon train?”

“That’s what I meant.” He picked her up early, though. She guarded his luggage along with hers while he went to park the car and walked back. While they weren’t anywhere-near alone, they didn’t see anyone they knew at the station.

“One advantage of the Saturday train,” Andy said, “is that Dad can pick us up.”

“Yeah. I didn’t even tell them when I’m coming.” Without the giddy company of their friends, they sat beside one another and merely held hands. They did talk, though. He didn’t remember any major glitches on his exams. She hadn’t seen anything that threw her for a loop, either.

“Of course,” he said, “that’s no guarantee. But, at least, I left no blanks and made no wild guesses.”

“And how was English?”

“I had the advantage of a brilliant tutor during the year. I just might end up acing the course. An acceptable grade, anyway, if not. You?”

“If this exam is all right, I’ll get an A.”

“But you, of course, need the A. You’re a major.” Andy felt that some courses needed to be passed high, and others needed to be passed. A D in Phys Ed was only unacceptable because that meant that you were too near having to repeat it. Which reminded her.

“And how do you think you did in swimming?”

“Well, I might pull a B. And, more important for the summer, I think I learned to swim decently. Of course, it isn’t the Lake. And archery?” That had been her Phys Ed course.

“I did okay. I’ll get a C, a B if he grades on effort instead of ability.”

“That’s always a hope, although I gripe when they do it in science courses. The same loophole would get me a B in drawing. You know, drafting is another discipline, but they could give fine arts distribution credit for drafting.”

“Why is it different?” And what was drafting?

“Drawing is free-hand, what an artist does on his sketch pad. Drafting uses straight edges. It’s what an engineer does on his tilted drafting table. Except that the engineers don’t really do that; there are draftsmen, which is another job category. Still, you have to be able to do some of it. I’ll take Drafting next quarter, keeping sharp whatever skills cross over.” So, he hadn’t been taking drawing for the nudes, after all -- first-year drawing students didn’t to see the nudes, but she’d always thought that this had been his hope.

His father greeted them in the station. As before, he took Andy’s luggage, and Andy took hers. His new car was another black Buick -- later model, but it looked much more like Andy’s car than most of the cars on the road. Andy got in back, after handing her into the front seat.

“Well, Miss Grant,” his dad asked, “and how was your quarter?”

“Fine thanks.” And then, since he seemed interested, she told him what she’d told Andy about classes. “And,” she concluded, “I have a Little Sister.” That seemed capable of misunderstanding.

“That’s something in the sorority. It’s one of the new members to whom I’m a sort of mentor. She’s Beverly. I’ve a Big Sister, too, have had one for a year. Natalie. Since she’s my big sister, she’s Beverly’s Grand Big Sister. Her Big Sister, Caitlin, is my Grand Big Sister. She’s a history major.”

“Good major. I majored in history.”

“And Andy’s claim that the Civil War was won in the west impressed her.”

“She didn’t tell him to consider the seas and the coastline?”

“No,” said Andy. “She didn’t. She did say, though, that I hadn’t convinced her.”

“The Army of Northern Virginia was a tragic hero. Maybe Lee would have been better characterized by that phrase. It kept the capital of the Confederacy safe while there was any Confederacy to need a capital. The naval blockade was dull as dishwater, chasing tiny blockade runners, catching some, missing others. But that squeezed the Confederacy as much as anything else did. And they captured ports slowly but surely. Before Richmond fell, the last significant Confederate port had been occupied. So, my son, the western theater of operations was hardly the be-all and end-all of the Civil War.” If Andy’s mind was sharp, she saw what it had been whetted against.

“But, Miss Grant,” Mr. Trainor continued, “have you enjoyed the mentoring?”

“Very much, although it was only for a brief time. I’m looking forward to continuing.”

“Well, you are good at it. I know from my own family. Maybe you might consider counseling instead of straight teaching.” He glanced over at her and must have seen something of her thoughts in her expression. “Maybe not. And, after all, an education degree is the requirement for a counselor if I’m not mistaken.”

“They are such wastes.” She remembered the guidance counselors at her high school. She’d never do that.

“Well, teachers are counselors, too. After all, you don’t need the title, just one great talent, and one that fits in with your career plans.” They were getting close, and Andy leaned forward to give the final directions to her house. When the car stopped, Andy got out and lifted her luggage out of the trunk. She opened the door, and he put it in the entrance hall.

“We’ll be in touch,” he said. From habit, she climbed two steps on the main staircase and turned to him. The kiss was long and deep.

“Marilyn!” Mom said from the top.

“I’m back,” she responded as Andy left the house.

“So I see. Was that Andy?”

“Yes. We took the train together and his dad drove me home.”

“You could have called. Have you eaten?”

“On the train.” She picked up her heavier suitcase and carried it up the stairs with her.

“That couldn’t have been enough. There are left-overs in the refrigerator ... Really, dear, Andy shouldn’t have come in. You shouldn’t have invited him.”

“He wasn’t going to leave my bag on the front porch.” Andy had carried her luggage another eight feet horizontally, keeping his dad waiting and standing with his hands full while she found the key to unlock the door to do so. She was expected to carry her own bags up the stairs, now. Well, she was home.

Monday, she took the El to the Loop to finish her Christmas shopping. Evanston didn’t give you the selection that the Loop did, and Champaign certainly hadn’t. On the other hand, the stores were jam-packed so close to Christmas.

Andy was a real problem. What he needed was clothes -- his weren’t ragged, but they were repetitive. On the other hand, Christmas was a nasty time to nag and Christmas gifts were a nasty way to nag. She’d received some nagging gifts herself, and she hated having to pretend to be grateful. Besides, she didn’t know his shirt or pants size. He had enough ties, now. It’s just that his dress shirts were all stark white and all looked the same. What he wanted was books -- and here, too, she didn’t know enough. What books did he already have?

She settled on a tie clasp. He would look spiffier in it, and his wearing it whenever he wore a tie -- Andy would always wear something like that or never wear it -- would just look to the other girls like a compliment to the giver.

If they got married, not that she was decided that they should, but just if they did, she would find out his clothing sizes and buy his clothes. He’d accept that as her domestic service to him. And they wouldn’t fight about style at all. Andy had no opinions about style.

She bought herself a present, too. Though she’d bet that Andy would enjoy it more than the tie clasp. A garter belt was a little hard to find in the last days of ‘75, but you could find anything in the Loop if you knew where to look. She bought some nylons, too. And, it being the Christmas season, Mom would never ask what she’d bought. It’s just that she enjoyed Andy’s hand so much she thought it might be more enjoyable with less between it and herself.

This left the problem of getting the tie clasp to him. Well, his dad had said he owed her. Where did Andy say he worked? She looked Albany Bank up in the Chicago phone book on Tuesday.

“Albany Bank.”

“May I speak to Mr. Jim Trainor, please?”

“Albany Bank. Mr. Trainor’s office.”

“May I speak to him, please? This is Marilyn Grant.” A pause then...

“Yes, Miss Grant. What can I do for you?”

“I’m sorry to bother you at work for personal business, but I have a problem. I want to give Andy a Christmas gift but not hand it to him.” He’d be quite embarrassed if he didn’t have one to hand back right then. “Do you think I could give it to you some time and you could slip it under your tree?”

“Well, yes. And you remind me that I haven’t planned out our Christmas yet. We always exchange gifts, but for years he’s been in California for the actual day. Anyway, will you be home around 6:00 tonight? I can hide the gift in the car trunk and sneak it in the house while he’s away.”

“That would be very kind of you.”

“Not at all. Thank you for calling.”

“Thank you. Goodbye.”

“Goodbye.”

He came by about 5:50. She was waiting downstairs to answer the door. No reason to upset Mom with a man as old as Dad calling for her.

“Well,” he said when he saw the package. “That won’t be any trouble to smuggle in. I’d pictured something larger. But, after all, precious things come in small packages. I mean that less personally than the last dozen times you’ve heard it.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever had it addressed to me.”

“Well, he has his good points, too.”

“If you mean Andy, he has many good points.”

“On that we’re agreed. I wonder how many points on your list would also be on mine.” She nearly blushed. “Well, I won’t ask you for your list if you don’t ask me for mine. Thanks.” He stepped out the door.

“Thank you. Goodbye.” But he was already striding towards his car.

“Who was that?” Mom asked.

“Andy’s dad. He’s doing me a favor.”

“You could have invited him in.”

“Like Dad, he’s a businessman on his way home right now. I don’t think a longer visit would make him happier. Would you want Dad to be social for a half hour and get home a half hour later?”

“You just don’t want me bringing up the Sundays he supported your rebellion.”

“I didn’t rebel, Mother. I chose where I would sit. Rather than support me, he requested my company with his family. The word is ‘request.’ Why don’t you look it up in the dictionary?”

“I don’t want to go over old disagreements.” So, why did she bring one up? And, really, that wasn’t a disagreement. That was something perfectly reasonable that she had done, and that Mom had bitched about.

“So, Marilyn, what happened at the house this quarter?” Well, she might have been blatant in changing the subject, but Mom was right about that question. Of all the people she knew up here, only she could appreciate this news.

“I have a Little Sister. Her name is Beverly Guerin.”

“Where does she live?”

“Saint Charles.”

“Do you like her?”

“Oh, yes.”

Christmas Eve, they -- even Pete -- went to church. Andy was there and gave her a package that had been gift-wrapped at the store.

“Why, thank you,” she said. She took it home and put it under the tree. Christmas morning, Pete played Santa. He teased her by ignoring her package from Andy. When the loot piled at Pete’s place got too attractive for him to go on, Dad took over as Santa and brought the gift to her first thing. It was a lovely, fuzzy scarf of dark green. It looked warm.

“You should have bought something for him,” Mom said.

“I did. A tie clasp.” She went back to opening the presents from the people there. She was careful to wear the scarf to church the next day. Andy was wearing the tie clasp, too. It looked good, if she did say so herself, even on one of his old trio of ties.

Christmas season went on. When it finished, she went back to campus. Mom made such a fuss that she didn’t ride down with Andy on Saturday, but rather by herself on Sunday. It was a new quarter, a new year, but Mom didn’t seem any more reasonable about Andy. They weren’t taking any of the same classes -- they’d checked on the way up. So, they couldn’t have study dates.